The Living Loss of Mary Alice Brandon
by Hermione W. Cullen
Summary: Alice's history from the POV of her older sister, Cynthia. Canon. In character. Properly punctuated.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Prologue.

Have you ever lost something that was a part of you, but you didn't know how much a part it was until it was yanked away?

If you have, then you know that there are times when its loss tugs at your gut and you have to give in to the pressure. Random slivers of memory trigger utter panic; the smallest word or image can send you tumbling into a fright. If you tried to explain this to someone they wouldn't understand; only the one who has lost can appreciate that feeling of isolation, that sensation that the world has been pulled out from under you.

Mary Alice Brandon was my sister. My life was a dull sketch in tones of sepia, but Mary Alice painted it with the brightest color from her glimmering palette. Even now, long after she is gone, swathes of color fill my memory, tingling on the edges of my mind the way her voice once did, tantalizing and full.

When I turn a corner and expect to see her, her absence sends me falling into darkness. Without Mary Alice at my side, my own mother is a stranger to me. I feel as if I'm watching my life unfold before my eyes, halfway between where she is and where I am. I am caught in the middle, unsure which way to turn. I am lost without my little sister.

I have no words to truly describe her loss; I have only this story to tell. This loss is like a living thing inside of me, sleeping heavily in my heart. I can live with it most of the time; there are only moments when, at a slight provocation, it rears its monstrous head and threatens to consume. I have many happy stories to tell, but none of them have any resonance in my mind. It is only this, the living loss of Mary Alice Brandon, that is with me every moment.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One.

Have you ever heard a herd of elephants stampede across a gigantic aluminum sheet in a thunderstorm? Multiply that by ten and you have a Brandon family gathering. They are full of food, airs, noise, and third cousins struggling desperately to remember each others' names. This party was particularly large and boisterous, which is why, true to my shamefully timid nature, I was holed up in my room, trying to drown out the riotous noise from the kitchen by reading aloud to myself.

The voices that filtered shrilly into the room did nothing for my concentration, but I did my best. However, before I could really get into the book, one clear voice rang above the rest of them.

"What are you doing in here, Cindy?" My sister, Mary Alice, stood in the doorway of our room, eyes sparkling with mischief. Somehow I knew she would not leave me alone to cower in peace.

"Reading," I replied, already resigned. When Mary Alice set out to do something, it was as good as done. And clearly she had set out to bring me back to the party.

"You leave me all alone at my birthday party…so you can sit in your room and read like you do every other day?" she pouted. Mary Alice's pouts are the equivalent of mind control; look into those wide brown eyes, see that soft pink lip protrude sadly, stare back at that sweet face framed by long, silky black hair, and your days are numbered.

"Al," I replied pleadingly, "you know I don't like crowds…and besides, you're not alone! You've got a fair thirty people here to see you!"

"But I barely know any of them! I need my big sister to help me mingle." I sighed heavily and marked my place in my book.

"I already had to make the toast," I complained, "wasn't that embarrassment enough for one evening?"

"That was Ma and Pa's fault, not mine," Mary Alice protested, "you wouldn't punish me for that!" Mary Alice tended to pose questions as statements.

"You're perfectly able to mingle without my help," I pointed out. This was true; if ever there was a crowd pleaser, it was Mary Alice. She could be put in a room with a lawyer, a coal miner, a toddler and a monk and they'd all be best of friends within a minute.

"Did I mention," Mary Alice added in a confidential whisper, taking the seat across from me on her bed, "that Robert Pendewyn is here, and he is asking for you?"

She knew she'd won me over by the way my eyes lit up at the name. Robert and I were…Well, we were…Well, I was anxious to see him.

"And all you have to do," Mary Alice continued in a businesslike manner, "is help me chat up Incorrigible Aunt Betsey, and I will lead you straight to him." She stood up and offered me her arm. I took it and we headed down the hall and into the parlor, where, sure enough, Aunt Betsey was waiting. In honor of tonight's occasion, she had donned a particularly lurid violet gown. Her wrinkled cheeks were rouged half to death, and she wore a peacock feather in her carefully sculpted salt-and-pepper hair.

"Mary Alice, darling!" she crowed, her voice dripping with over-displayed delight, "Happy birthday! Eighteen already! Why, it seems it was only yesterday you were putting on your little shows for us at Christmas, dragging your sister around behind you, trying to get her to speak up. It's a shame, dear, that she isn't more outgoing; sometimes I fear she'll never find a husband. I'm sure, though, that you have beaus positively beating down the door!"

I coughed politely, and Aunt Betsey turned to me.

"Oh, and Cynthia!" she cried, face laden with false surprise, "How lovely to see you again! I was just remembering to your sister how the two of you used to sing for us at Christmas dinner…"

"Actually," Mary Alice cut in, "Cindy usually played the harmonium while I sang. She's a brilliant player. If you remember, two years ago"—

"Ah, yes, of course!" Aunt Betsey exclaimed, shouting down Mary Alice, who shot me a bemusedly apologetic look, "It was you, Mary Alice, who had the lovely voice. I remember when you were a baby, your singing was so beautiful, we were all certain you were an angel walking among men. Pity that trait doesn't run in the family…" Aunt Betsey's beady eyes flickered to me and then away again.

"Oh!" Alice cried abruptly. When both Aunt Betsey and I were looking at her, she lowered her voice and explained, "Auntie Hannah just came in with her daughter Ruthie, and I was just thinking…you don't get along with her very well, do you, Aunt Betsey? Maybe we should move into the other room…"

"Of course I get along with her," Aunt Betsey protested indignantly, "she's my sister. Hannah!" she shouted across the room, "You're looking younger every day! And how's my darling little…" Aunt Betsey's strident voice faded into the hubbub as she made her way toward her sister, with whom she had had a viciously polite rivalry for as long as we could remember.

"Astounding," I congratulated Mary Alice softly. She giggled.

"Come on," she whispered, "I told Robert to wait in the garden." She led me by the hand through the back door and into the yard, where I could see Robert standing among the lilacs. "If you want to give me a really good birthday present," Mary Alice muttered before parting, "Tell. Me. Everything." And then she was gone before I could say "pshaw."

I approached him cautiously; he was staring over the garden wall and didn't see me coming.

"Robert," I greeted softly. He started and turned around. His face broke into a wide grin when he saw me.

"Cindy," he said warmly, treading carefully around the petunias to meet me. "How are you?"

"I'm doing very well, thank you," I replied, beaming like a loony. There was a pause, filled with only the crickets' chirps…and the dull roar coming from inside the house.

"Listen…" Robert said after a moment, his tone quite changed, "I"—but at that moment, we heard the door creak open. The noise from inside increased, and we leapt apart from each other, doing our best to appear cordial.

"Robert?" called Mrs. Pendewyn, her eyes scanning the garden until she found us. "Oh! There you are! Your father and I are just about to go. Are you comin'?" Robert had recently moved into the city—Biloxi—but his parents still lived right outside it, near us, and he was staying with them tonight.

"I'm right behind you," said Robert in an expressionless voice.

"Alright, then. Please, don't be too long; your father and Mr. Mayer are like to chat my ears off with all their talk of fishin'! I don't think I can stand another minute of it! Hello, Cynthia, beautiful garden you have here!" And with that, Mrs. Pendewyn retreated inside.

I chuckled and turned slowly back to Robert. His face abruptly cut off the comment I was about to give; he looked painfully nervous.

I furrowed my brow and opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong. Before I knew what had happened, he had closed the careful space between us, closed his hands awkwardly on my shoulders, and kissed me.

"Oh," I stated, barely able to register what had just happened.

"Was that…uh…okay?" he asked me, his eyes desperately searching my face. I put my hand to my cheek.

"Yes," I somehow managed to say. He smiled again.

"Good—I'd better go." He pecked me swiftly on the lips once more and bounded back inside.

The two of us had known each other for as long as we could remember, but nothing of _that_ nature had ever happened before.

As I stared after him, belated butterflies burst through my stomach lining and started beating their wings vigorously against my heart. So…_that _explained it. _That _explained Robert Pendewyn.

I fought my way through the crowd inside, eager to reach my room. I would wait for Mary Alice there, and when she came I would explain to her my strange encounter with Robert…

But when I got there, Mary Alice was already sitting on her bed, a flat look of panic on her face.

"What's the matter, Al?" I asked her with alarm. She glanced up at me in desperation.

"I…_saw_ something, Cindy," she whispered slowly. "Something that was coming. Like the dream I had in April, only this time…I was just standing there, Cindy, listening to cousin Igor ramble on about cheese importation, when all of the sudden…I was just somewhere else."

I was silent for a moment. About a month ago, Mary Alice had dreamed that little Billy Wilkins would fall off of his horse and break his leg. A week later, he did.

"What did you…see?" I finally asked, my mouth dry.

"Pa," she whispered, "in a cabin on a steamboat. He's lying on the bed, very pale. There's a strange nurse sitting next to him, but she's asleep. He coughs and coughs and coughs…and all the sudden he stops coughing. The nurse wakes up and checks his pulse, but he's…dead."

We lapsed into silence again while I considered this. Eventually I burst out, "That's impossible! Pa hasn't been sick a day in his life! And why ever would he be traveling by boat? It just doesn't make sense, Mary Alice." I gentled my voice a little and moved to sit next to her. I put my arm around her, stroking her soft hair as was my habit. "I'm sure it's just a panic," I comforted, "Pa's not going anywhere, Al. You don't have to be afraid."

"I'm sure you're right," said Mary Alice a bit harshly, biting her lip. "Has Billy Wilkins' leg healed yet?"

"Mary Alice," I sighed, drawing out each syllable of her name.

"I just—I don't think this was a false alarm," she whispered. "It was real, Cindy. Dreadfully real. I could smell the sea and the musty carpet and I could feel how hot it was and I _saw_ Pa die. I saw it with my own…my own eyes!" I looked into those same, sweet eyes and saw the truth of that in them.

"Well, even if it _is _going to happen," I said cautiously, "there's nothing we can do about it just now. Maybe getting some sleep will help. The party's almost over; I can make an excuse for you if you like."

"No," she replied, her voice still faint, "I can handle it. Besides, maybe you _are_ right. It could be nothing. Yes," she continued almost to herself, "it's nothing."

Her voice had gained strength, but her eyes were still dull with shock.


End file.
